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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980796">Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling'>tveckling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Resident Evil 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:21:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After bringing Ashley back to her father it truly hits Leon that he's now, for real, alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leon S. Kennedy/Jack Krauser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompted by Isaac on twitter in my attempts to maybe hopefully manage to write shit again ❤</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sounds from the party are still echoing in his head, far too loud, as though he's still in the middle of the ballroom, forcing a smile and pretending he doesn't want to be anywhere else. But it was his duty, the party the President had thrown for him, so Leon had stayed, until finally, finally he could stumble into a coldly empty hotel room. The bottle in his hand is almost empty, and he knows he should feel bad -part of him does feel bad- but he feels like he deserves getting thoroughly wasted, just this once. Especially this once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a gulp as he looks around the dark room, easing the snare-like tie around his throat. Godawful garments, those, only useful for your enemy to choke you with, a voice sneers in his head. Leon winces, grits his teeth, and takes another swing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's always like this, he's starting to realize. It will always be like this. In the heat of the moment his head will be clear and focused, and afterwards- afterwards, when he's alone, when it's over, that's when the guilt and remorse come, the horror and disgust, the paralyzing fear. And the memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leon scoffs as he sits down harshly at the edge of the bed, his lips twitching into an expression he doesn't want to see. He raises the bottle again, but stops himself with the cold glass against his lip. Lowers his hand and cradles it between both his hands instead as he stares into the empty air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You asshole. You were supposed to be dead already; I was supposed to have hurt all I would over you. And it hurt- </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt." Leon stares down at his hands clutching the bottle. "And now you're dead, for real this time. I shouldn't have to feel like this, especially not because of someone like you! After all you did…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a deep breath Leon closes his eyes, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking until there's no more alcohol burning his throat - not that he feels it much any longer, what with how much he's already imbibed. His hand shakes as he lowers the bottle again, but his eyes are unwavering as he glares into the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a real piece of work, you know that? A real- real piece of… something. Shit. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You pretended to be dead, then kidnapped an innocent girl, all just to do what? In the end, you just made me- I had to- you forced me to watch you die! To kill you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crash of the bottle breaking into countless shards against the wall is a satisfying sound, but all too quickly there's nothing but Leon's own fast, heavy breathing. And he slowly lowers his head, digs his fingers into his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I still hurt. I ache, you make me ache, in ways I never thought were possible. Even after everything… Why did you come back? Why didn't you </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me? Jack?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one answers him, of course, and Leon closes his eyes. He made sure of that. There will never be anyone to answer his questions or explain or hold him again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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